Anniversary
by D.F. Twinkie
Summary: Each of the characters reflects on the year and on Beckett and Castle's relationship. Co-written by fialka, sarastar43, JillianCasey, kiki39 and jane0904.
1. Lanie

**Title:** Anniversary  
**Author:** dftwinkie (individual authors listed in the chapters)  
**Rating:** T (mostly PG, but some chapters have swearing)  
**Spoilers:** All aired episodes  
**Disclaimer:** They are not ours, we just love them

------

**Lanie**

-----

"Hey, Lanie, you almost ready?" Kate Beckett asked as she walked into the morgue. "Because I could definitely use a drink."

Lanie, who was still wearing her scrubs and covered in blood up to her elbows, raised an eyebrow as she regarded her friend. "Do I _look_ like I'm ready? You were late, so I thought I'd do the routine autopsy on Mister Blake, here."

"Sorry." Kate grimaced. "My paperwork took forever." She looked at the other autopsy table, "This one's clean, right?" At Lanie's nod, Kate hopped up on the table and sat there, swinging her legs as she watched her friend finish the autopsy.

"That's ok. I finally got rid of Perlmutter when I sent him out to that big accident on 50th about an hour ago, so I was enjoying the peace and quiet. I swear, that man is crazier than any ten people I know. It's a good thing we don't work too many shifts together, or I think I'd strangle him."

"Justifiable homicide." Beckett grinned, "and I'd help you get rid of the body. But how do you think I feel, working with Castle all day? Today he insisted on coming in, despite the fact that there was no case, just paperwork. And he alternated between sitting there, watching me, which is creepy, and trying to get me to stop working and play with him, which is annoying."

"Mmmm-hmmm," Lanie said, concentrating on closing the Y-incision.

"Do you realize that it's been a year since he started shadowing me?"

"Time flies when you're having fun, hmm?" Lanie smirked.

Kate rolled her eyes. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'time drags when you're being annoyed.'"

"Oh come on, girl, that man is nothing _but _fun!" Lanie pulled the sheet back over Mr. Blake, stripped off her gloves and began washing up.

"Which is the problem! He can't take anything seriously."

"Whereas you take everything much too seriously, Beckett. Lighten up, live a little! Heck, I have a more exciting life than you, and I work with dead bodies all day. Besides, weren't you just telling me you were tired of quiet, and wanted some loud? Rick Castle is practically the definition of loud."

"Yeah, you're right," Beckett sighed. "He does keep things from getting too grim around the precinct. And, to be fair, he is occasionally serious. You should see him with Alexis, it's really kind of…sweet."

Lanie ducked into her office to change her clothes, and so that Kate wouldn't see the smile on her face. Not that Kate would probably have noticed, as she seemed to have momentarily drifted into some far off land. Those two were so blind. They were perfect for each other, and everyone could see it but them. They balanced each other out – Castle's silliness reflected some light into Beckett's life, and her determination kept him focused when he got out of hand. Kate had a deep well of vulnerability hiding under her tough exterior, and underneath Castle's sugar-high twelve-year-old personality there really was a caring heart and a protective instinct that would help her weather any storm.

Yes, Lanie thought as she gathered up her coat and followed Kate out the door. They really were perfect for each other. Hopefully they would figure it out soon, before she owed Esposito more money.

_Author: sarastar43 _


	2. Castle

**Castle**

-----

'_Her body glistened with perspiration, her flesh sliding against his in the half-light forcing through the curtains from the street lamps outside. As he played her like an expensive violin she moaned, her lips vibrating against his cheek, her breath fanning his ardour, bringing the flames of his desire towards the inevitable explosive peak. _

_He murmured her name. "Kate."'_

Whoa. No. Not Kate. Nikki.

Rick stared at the words on the screen, wondering what slip of the mind had caused him to put entirely the wrong name. Something Freud would have a field day over, no doubt. Luckily the joy of modern technology meant he didn't have to expose his innermost mental failings to the world. Double-clicking on the name, he pressed delete before typing in _Nikki_.

He chuckled under his breath. Maybe he was tired. After all, it was his decision to throw Nikki and Rook into bed together, although sometimes he wondered why. Oh, he always had plenty of sex in his books – it was expected, and in a way he enjoyed writing it, trying to make it different each time without resorting to anything kinky. Well, not too kinky. Except when it was called for.

He'd debated keeping their relationship in Heat Wave on a knife edge, letting his two main protagonists toy with different partners, getting it together but not with each other, denying themselves that final fulfillment. Until the third book, at least. Yet there it was, in black and white on page 105.

Maybe subconsciously he'd decided to give Rook what he couldn't have.

He stifled a yawn. Definitely tired. They'd had a long day, finally bringing the perp – or skel, or sleestack, or whatever – to justice, a rock solid case behind them. No way that dirtbag was going to walk. He'd left the precinct with a spring in his step, ready to go home and sleep. Only this time his muse decided to kick him in the hindbrain, and after a late dinner with Alexis and his mother, he'd settled down for an hour or two to write.

Pretty badly, he had to admit. Truth was, some days were like this. The urge to get something down on paper was so great he just had to go with the flow, and occasionally what flowed was pure and utter crap.

Still, it said a lot about his state of mind.

Beckett. Kate. Or Katie, as he sometimes called her in his mind. And one day would do in real life, if only to annoy her. Which was almost as much fun as solving crimes.

In the deepest, darkest part of the night he could admit he didn't really need to follow her around anymore, at least not for the sake of research. They'd dealt with enough villains to fill a dozen Nikki Heat books, and what he didn't know his imagination could fill in. He was, after all, a novelist – it was what he did for a living, what he was. No, he knew why he still hung around, and it wasn't because of a fictional character.

For the second time he deleted the name, typing _Kate_ in its place. Then, with just a touch of devilry in his heart, he continued.

_'The woman in his arms opened her eyes, her dark hair fanned out around her head. She smiled, even as her skin pinked._

_"Castle," she whispered, pulling him down into a deep kiss, whispering into his mouth, "Oh God, Castle."'_

"Oh, boy," he whispered, a wide grin breaking his features. "Ricky baby, you have so lost it."

He knew what it was. Something his mother had pointed out over breakfast.

"Have you looked at the date, kiddo?" she'd asked, strong black coffee in one hand and a copy of the New York Ledger in the other.

"It's not your birthday, is it?" he'd responded, the idle thought crossing his mind that she'd never forgive him if he'd forgotten again, although last year she'd dropped so many hints it was like being hit with a Martha-sized sledgehammer.

"No." She swatted him with the paper. "It's a year ago."

"What?"

Then it hit him. A year ago tomorrow. Three hundred and sixty four ... he glanced at the clock. No. Three hundred and sixty five days ago, because some time in the past few hours today had become yesterday, and it was now their anniversary.

To almost everyone else it wouldn't seem like anything major, but to him it was a year since Bob had made that call. Since Montgomery passed on the good news. Since Beckett's glare suggested she could quite happily draw her gun and shoot him down then and there in the middle of the squad room, and damn the consequences. It was a look he got used to over the next few weeks, but since then they'd developed a good working relationship. A hitch or two maybe, but then what relationship doesn't have its rocky patches?

A whole year of following Kate.

She hadn't mentioned anything about it during the day, so he hadn't, although he'd had to trample on his initial inclination to order several thousand dollars worth of orchids and scatter them around her desk. Probably not a good idea. He didn't want that look again. Besides, orchids could wait. Just like he could, until the time was right and she was ready. Because he had the feeling that any kind of relationship with Kate Beckett would be worth it, and it wouldn't be just a one night stand, either.

His cellphone rang, puncturing his musings and startling him. Picking it up off the desk he checked the caller ID, and smiled. He pressed answer. "Beckett."

She didn't waste any pleasantries. "Cleaners have found a body in an office building off 45th Street."

"Do you know what time it is?" he complained, but without rancor. "Don't you ever sleep?"

"If you don't want to come –"

"I didn't say that."

"And you're awake anyway."

"I was writing."

"Nikki Heat?"

He glanced at the screen, his fantasy played out. His finger hovered over the keyboard until it jabbed down on the backspace key, sending the last couple of paragraphs into the place where all badly written literature went to die. "No. Just ... trying stuff out."

"Writer's block?"

No, he wanted to say. More like an overactive imagination. But he answered, "Yes. Just a touch."

"Then maybe this will get your juices flowing again."

He could imagine her smiling. "It's a good one?"

"According to Esposito."

"Murder?"

"Well, since the vic's in at least two pieces, I think so."

"It might be an elaborate suicide."

She paused, but only for a microsecond as he imagined her rolling her eyes. "If it is, I'll buy breakfast."

"You're on."

"I'll be outside in ten. Don't be late." She hung up.

Rick grinned. No, he wasn't going to say he didn't need to follow her anymore. Not when he was having fun like this. And maybe some time in the next twelve months he could persuade her he wasn't such a bad guy, and that his roguish exterior hid the heart and soul of an artist, tempered through with passion.

He laughed out loud. "One day, Katie. One day."

Closing his laptop he stood up, the tiredness falling away from him. And truth was, until that one day, there were murders to be solved. He hurried out of the study to get his jacket.

_Author: jane0904_


	3. Perlmutter

**Perlmutter**

-----

Oh great, the highlight of my day. Beckett and her shadow. And here I thought I'd get out of here at a decent hour.

"That's kidnapping," Beckett said, stepping into the morgue, Castle right on her heels.

"I see it as more of a citizen's arrest," Castle argued. "Potato, po-tah-to."

I don't know how Beckett puts up with Castle. Personally, I think she needs to tighten his leash. Castle only carries on like that to get a rise out of her. Or maybe it's being a celebrity; always needing to be the centre of attention - at least the centre of Beckett's attention. He's a big bloody untrained puppy. Either way, I'd like less commentary and more professional conversation. I don't do flirty banter. I cut up dead people. And I have a long line of dead bodies waiting. This is New York. Although I should be grateful she didn't bring those two clowns along with them. Frik and Frak and puppy-dog here tend to significantly increase the proportion of wasted time.

Last time they were all here, I think it was the Rutledge case, writer-boy was so busy trying to convince those two clowns he was right he started yammering on, making up another long-winded story, hands flying all over the place -- knocked my instruments right off the table. And that's not the first time. What don't they get about proper sanitation?! I really wish Beckett would handcuff him (and gag the man) before entering my room. I almost lost an eye from his wild gestures.

"Perlmutter?" Beckett asked, slipping past Castle towards the table holding their latest victim: Victor Drummond, 52.

I turned to her. "Cause of death appears to be from potassium chloride poisoning."

Castle furrowed his brows, apparently thinking hard. It was too bad it wasn't actually possible to pull a brain muscle. I would have enjoyed that. If he asked another CSI-related question, I was tempted to use one of the many sharp instruments at his disposal. The writer piped up, "But isn't that--"

"Almost undetectable, yes. It leaves little trace in the blood stream." As if he would have known that. Better to cut him off and keep him focused. The faster he loses interest, the faster he leaves.

Beckett stepped closer. "Making it appear as if our vic had a heart-attack. But that still doesn't explain the marks on his neck." She bent down closer. "It almost looks like..." she hesitated, "...hickeys with puncture wounds."

Great. She had to give the writer an opening, and of course he took it.

Castle looked positively gleeful. "Puncture wounds and hickeys. Best. Case. Ever."

Beckett glanced up at him. "You say that every case."

"Not _every _case. Only the ones with really good stories."

"Fine, most cases then."

Castle thinks every story is a good story. Especially the ones he tells. And the stories he tells... I don't even want to think the amount of hours of my life I'll never get back having to listen to him try to convince Beckett he's right because he tells a damn story with gestures. Lots of gestures. And that includes those eyebrows. I miss the quiet and the lack of inane commentary after anything I say. Beckett doesn't waste my time with extraneous chit chat. Or ask me random questions about what would happen to a body if this was done to it, or that was done to it. And no, CSI is never right. I'm not a damn encyclopedia here for Castle's benefit. I have a job to do. A damn important one.

"Do you want to experiment? I'd be willing to allow you to give me a few hickeys. You know, for scientific purposes."

Beckett seemed to consider it. "Okay." She agreed.

"Really?"

"Sure, as long as I get to do the puncture marks as well." She rolled her eyes and turned back to the body.

"What if I gave you a few hickeys instead? We could practice until I got it right."

And there's the flirting. The man has no shame. Really, who in their right mind would flirt over a dead (and questionably-smelling) corpse? I don't think Richard Castle has ever heard the word etiquette. The last thing I want to do is watch him flirt shamelessly in my place of business. Especially after I've eaten. But if he likes Beckett that much, he should ask her out, bring her flowers, books, take her out for a nice dinner, whatever. Just no pussy-footing around trying to charm the woman over a dead body in my office. Like that would ever work.

Oh great, now Rich-boy's leaning in close, whispering something to Beckett. It's only a matter of time until her ignoring him results in more wild hand gestures and another fifteen minutes of story-telling.

Time to end this and get them out of my lab. I may have survived one year, but I'm not sure about another. "How about you practice that on your own time? Some of us have a real job to do."

_Author: kiki39_


	4. Ryan

**Ryan**

-----

Two hundred dollars in 365 days. That's how much money I've lost thanks to Beckett and Castle. Most of it went to Esposito. Twenty went to Karpowski when Beckett didn't punch Castle after finding out they were supposedly "romantically involved". Two hundred dollars. I could've taken Jenny somewhere really nice with that money. Instead I'm in the conference room at the precinct on a Saturday night, watching Beckett pretend that she's not flirting with Castle.

It's like one of the TV shows Jenny likes to watch. Castle says something inappropriate and Beckett rolls her eyes, but of course she smiles. She always smiles. Sometimes she says something inappropriate back, and then Castle's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, and they stare at each other like they're about to pull a page 105 right there in the precinct.

They never do. Obviously. Instead she smirks and he grins and she looks away and he stares. He stares all the time. Beckett would kick me and Esposito in the teeth if we stared at her like that. It's not like we're not tempted to. I mean really, how many guys work for a woman that looks like _that_?

But anyway, they've definitely got that thing going on. What does Jenny call it? UST. Unresolved sexual tension. I didn't know there was such a thing. I mean if a guy likes a woman, and a woman likes a guy, why can't they just, you know, get on with it? I mean he should woo her, of course. Like I wooed Jenny. But still. Beckett and Castle already have eye sex and word sex on a daily basis. Real sex isn't much of a step up.

"What about you?" Castle asks Beckett provocatively, and suddenly me and Esposito are on high alert. It's his tone of voice. Last time he had that tone of voice he told her he'd had a dream about her in leather on a Ducati. "You have any deep, dark secrets, Detective?"

Beckett considers his question for a moment, and when she smirks, I share a look with Esposito. "I don't know, Castle. What do you think?"

Castle leans in closer. I don't think I've ever been that close to Beckett. Castle says she smells like cherries. I'm too afraid to find out. "Everyone has a secret. Do you want to know one of mine?"

Beckett turns her chair toward him and reaches her hands out to tug on the lapels of his suit jacket. "Well…" she trails off and bites her lip, and I'm pretty sure my mouth is hanging open just as far as Esposito's. She shifts gears so fast my head hurts. "No. I'll just read it on page six. Now quit fooling around and start working."

Beckett turns back to what she's doing and Castle stares at her. Me and Esposito stare at him.

I've got a feeling I'm going to be losing a lot more money.

_Author: jilliancasey _


	5. Karpowski

**Karpowski**

-----

He's attractive. Not Brad Pitt attractive, but he's got something going on. Might be the hair. Definitely the smile. He's got charm coming out of his ears too, which isn't something I usually go for, but somehow he pulls it off with more class than most of the guys around this precinct do. All that money doesn't hurt either. All in all, I gotta say that if Richard Castle looked at me the way he looks at Beckett, I'd be _all _up on that.

Beckett's not though. Either she's got the self control of a saint, or she's secretly screwing some beautiful man that would make Rick Castle turn eight shades of neon green. Ever since Esposito said Beckett walked out on Mr. July, though, the second option of a secret sex slave isn't looking too plausible. And judging from the way she was twirling her hair when I ran into her and Castle getting off the elevator the other night, her self control isn't going to last much longer either.

I just hope they can hold out until November.

The 17th, to be exact. Beckett's birthday. That's when I have them hitting the sheets. Because really, what girl doesn't like a little birthday sex? He'll probably get her something real nice too. Something that will blow her out of the water because I don't think she's caught on yet to how thoughtful he is. I wouldn't have caught on either if he hadn't handed me a pair of Knicks tickets three weeks ago and said he remembered that I wanted to see the game against the Cavs.

Anyway, birthday sex. Beckett's a class act, and she's incredibly professional. But there's something about a birthday that makes a girl feel a little careless, and if Castle plays his cards right, all he's going to have to do is look at her like he does when she's _not_ looking and that heat is going to come straight off the page and into his bed.

I don't think he'll bolt afterward, though. Some of the other guys think he will, but I'd take that bet any day. If he was going to bolt, he would've done it a long time ago, like after he realized he couldn't get her in bed right away. Or after he looked into her mom's case and she didn't speak to him for three months. Jesus, she was quiet during those three months. Kinda pale too. Next thing you know Castle's back and they're standing even closer than they were before. Which is saying a lot, considering they never stood socially acceptable distances apart to begin with.

Today they walked in together, and she actually touched his arm when she laughed at something he said. Esposito gave me that smug bastard look he's so good at.

"Wanna move your date up, Karpowski?"

I just grinned.

_Author: jilliancasey_


	6. Esposito

**Esposito**

-----

Before he was transferred down to the 12th, Esposito's turf was a little more familiar: the 23rd in Spanish Harlem, not two blocks from the projects where he grew up.

It was a long ride downtown to where the big kids played, the rich white kids with their floor-through garden apartments and trendy coffee combinations that cost more than his mom'd had to spend on dinner for her whole family of strapping teenaged boys. He's the middle son, and like the old classic stories Alonso inherited the turf, Javi joined the military, and Manuelito, well, little Manny went off to that happy place the priests at St Cecelia's always promised to anyone who'd listen. And even those (like himself) who didn't, but hoped to _Dios _they were right anyway.

There was only one thing Esposito knew how to do when he got back from the Persian Gulf, and for a nice Nuyorican boy that could only lead one of two ways: follow Alonso into the Kings, or follow his mama's heart south, out of El Barrio and into the NYPD. Funny how that worked -- no sooner was he out of the Academy than he found himself back on 102nd Street, and okay, maybe _he _was wearing the blue this time instead of being escorted by _them _up the precinct steps, but still. He'd run hard and fast and long, only to wind up right back where he had started, and how fucking depressing was that? Especially when his own brother spat at him from his street-corner perch.

The badge, though, the badge made his mama proud, and in its own way, it made him proud too. So for three years Esposito rode his beat, and let his Captain call him Harvey, and took his mama to church every Sunday morning when he wasn't working, and they all pretended not to know where Alonso's money came from when he showed up for Mama's birthday and Christmas, acting like the brother Javier remembered, for a little while at least. And lucky for them all, Esposito was down in the 12th by the time Alonso joined the hit parade for a drive-by with lousy aim. It's not the worst thing that can happen to an NYPD cop, having a gangbanger brother doing time at Rikers for inadvertently shooting a couple of nine-year-old girls, but it sure as shit would have sucked to be the one who put him there.

Frankly, it would all have sucked a hell of a lot more if it hadn't been for Kate Beckett.

He was in Robbery working his way up to detective when she arrived at the 12th, a six-foot tiger in stiletto heels. Rumour had it she'd been transferred by order of Montgomery, the new Captain up in Homicide, as his hand-picked successor. Esposito had probably expected what everyone else did, that she would eat the competition for breakfast, that she was a rich bitch from the Village, a Vassar girl who looked down on the rest of their uneducated asses, that she'd slept with someone, or a few someones, to get out of uniform and up the next rung of the ladder.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. Beckett was _nice_, in a way he wasn't used to cops being nice. Not to each other, anyway. Out of all the cops who said sorry about his brother the day Alonso was convicted, Beckett was the only one who looked him in the eyes, who put her hand on his shoulder long enough for him to feel the warmth, before making it a fist and punching him lightly, twice, the way another guy would. And back then he hardly even knew her, except to nod hello. She was already working murders, having earned her gold in Vice before spending another year in the detective bureau at Midtown. Now she was on her way to D2, which meant that by the time Esposito got his own gold shield and that transfer into Homicide he was desperately working his way towards, there was a damned good chance she would be his boss.

And indeed, that's exactly how it played out.

By that time, though, he knew her well enough, or as well as anyone at the precinct seemed to know anyone they didn't work with day-to-day, which admittedly, wasn't much. He knew her mother had been stabbed to death in the streets, and her father was an alcoholic, which kind of cut through the whole hot-chick-from-Easy-Street mystique. He knew from the guys in her old squad that she really was as smart as she sounded, and a fuck of a lot tougher than she looked, and she liked to shake it loose as much as the next cop when the work was done, but never on her own turf. He knew from experience that she didn't laugh much, but when she did it was _wicked. _And like every other guy in the precinct he would have to pick his jaw up off the floor and hide his dick behind the nearest camouflage, because the one thing about Kate Beckett that he _really_ hadn't expected, that maybe nobody expected, was that _she didn't know. _She knew she was good-looking, sure, and if it would help her trip some palooka into confessing, she'd bat her lashes and give him an eyeful down her shirt. Anything for the job. But with the guys in her squad there was none of that, at least not from her side. Full-bore professional. And that's what she didn't know, how she could floor a guy by trying for him _not _to notice how fucking gorgeous she was.

And then came Castle. And boy, oh boy, he noticed.

Esposito smacks his partner's arm, never taking his eyes off the other two. Castle bringing Beckett coffee, reaching into his pocket to put something down on the desk in front of her. Something that makes her face do that _whathefuck _thing only Castle ever (and frequently) makes it do.

'Ring?' Ryan asks, disbelief making his voice go all high and girly, but at least still soft enough for the two at Beckett's desk not to overhear.

'Nah, too soon.'

They stare openly until Castle picks up the object and holds it out to her, small and shiny silver, in the palm of his hand. 'Dude,' Ryan says. 'Is that--'

'A Hershey's kiss?' Esposito finishes.

'Wasn't Valentine's Day--'

'Yeah, like weeks ago, bro.' And Ryan should know, cause he lost fifty bucks on that.

They can't see Castle's face or hear what he's saying, but whatever it is, he's leaning close to do it. Beckett's expression hasn't changed, but her cheeks are going pink enough for them to see it, even at this distance.

'Yo, Honeymilk, you got the book?'

Ryan opens his desk drawer without looking and slaps the book into Esposito's hand. It's been going around so long now the pages are practically filled, and the pot's gotta be heading up to three thousand.

'You are my witness, bro,' Esposito says, as Beckett takes the chocolate from Castle's hand, her eyes never leaving his as she unwraps it and places it slowly into her mouth. Esposito finds his entry and slaps the book back into Ryan's hand. 'First kiss. March 9th, 2010. At last, we have a winner.'

'That's not a kiss, it's a piece of freakin' chocolate,' Ryan squeaks.

'Never said what kind a' kiss it had to be.'

'Uh-uh, man. No freaking way.'

Esposito shrugs and gets comfy in his chair. Back at her desk, Beckett is still savouring the chocolate, not quite hiding a self-satisfied grin as she turns away from a gobsmacked Castle and reaches for a file. Man, the guy is such a goner. Even if it wasn't so much fun having him around -- between him and Ryan, like being with his brothers before they knew how stacked the fucking world would be against them -- watching Castle trip all over himself trying to get Beckett's attention is just too good to end.

_Author: fialka62_


	7. Beckett

**Beckett**

-----

There are things that they don't think she realises, but of course she does. Kate Beckett may be obstinate, work-obsessed, and far too self-contained for her own good, but she's nobody's goddamn fool. She'd be in the betting pool herself, if it wasn't insider information.

Thing is, it's not like she's really _got _any inside information about what's happening between them -- let alone when -- either.

Here's the thing about the man: he makes her crazy in ways she never imagined anyone could. And that's not always to his credit. There are times she feels like she's disciplining an unruly toddler (three when you count the effect he sometimes has on Esposito and Ryan) and she remembers exactly why she doesn't panic at the thought of never having kids. What _is _to his credit (and this has been embarrassingly true for as long as she's known him) is his knack for making her feel soft inside. And warm. She's not so sure about the soft, especially at work, but she can allow herself a little warm. It's the kind of thing she can pass on to others when they need it more.

This, however...this visually caressing her right in the middle of the precinct? That's not something she knows what to do with at all. She's usually very good at blocking out the world, at forcing herself not to think of things she doesn't want to be thinking of, certainly not in public where she might get lost in the thinking and forget about what might be showing on her face. Having a face like an open book is fine if she's just thinking through a case (though she wishes someone had mentioned the fact that she talks to herself when she's at the board _before _Castle noticed) but not when she's thinking about...well, _other _things.

Kate picks up the Jamison file and forces herself to concentrate. Maybe then she'll forget she's being watched. Or they'll get a call. Or it will be lunch and at least Esposito and Ryan will be out of the way, no longer staring at them from behind Esposito's monitor and surreptitiously making book.

An hour later, the Jamison case is officially closed. She gathers up her files and stands, feeling her knees crack just a little. Too much desk time lately; she needs to spend a bit more time working out.

'Where are we going?' Castle asks, already rising as well. She tilts an eyebrow at him and heads off without an answer, already knowing he'll follow.

Down in the file room it's cool and dim and smells pleasantly of dust and paper. Kate puts the files on the reading table by the edge of the cage and takes Castle by the lapels.

'Oh,' he says, not quite unsurprised. 'Tell me, was it the chocolate?'

'The chocolate was sweet,' she answers, and waits for the pun to register.

'Oh, I get it. You've brought me down here to get me all hot and bothered and then you're going to leave me here to cool off for an hour.' The slightly whiny tone of his voice is completely mitigated by the blatantly hopeful grin he can't quite keep off his face.

'Only an hour? I'm clearly doing something wrong.' She steps a little closer, close enough to kiss. 'Is this better?'

A look of sheer bliss crosses his face, quickly chased away by a look of panic.

'What?' he asks. 'What have I done?'

She pushes him to arm's length, and then further, until his back is against the files on the other side of the aisle. 'Castle, what date do you have in the betting pool? March 9th, by any chance?'

'No! I'm not even in the--' He catches himself, tries to backtrack, and trips over his own tongue. 'How did you know there's a betting pool?'

'Castle...I'm a _detective_.' She wants to add _you idiot_, but in truth he's kind of adorable, pinned to the wall of files and squirming. And in truth -- because she's not an idiot, and she's not a fool, and it seems on some level stupid to let someone else get all the profit from what is, let's face it, something she can control -- she suddenly knows _exactly_ how to get her own back on all her boys.

And she's damn sure Lanie will be glad to help.

_Author: fialka62_


	8. Martha

**Martha**

-----

"What do venom, bitterness, and shrill-torture have in common?" Castle asked, joining Martha by the fire. He sank into the couch gratefully and closed his eyes.

Martha lowered her script to see the weary look on her son's face. She was more familiar with that expression than she'd like to be. He always seemed to age a good five years after one of his...chats with that woman. "The ex-Mistress From Hell, I take it."

Castle opened his eyes and quirked an eyebrow at her in amusement. "Why, Mother, that might be the nicest thing you've ever called Gina."

"Well, Alexis is in earshot."

"I've heard you call her worse, Grams," Alexis called from the kitchen. "Remember when she called but Dad was with Beckett at--"

She was interrupted by the loud ring of Castle's cell phone.

Wincing, he leaned forward, reaching for the phone. "Gina probably forgot to mention something else she didn't like about the latest _Naked Heat_ chapter." He glanced down at the screen and abruptly his tight expression was gone, replaced with amused affection. "Well, now."

Martha's eyebrows rose at his expression, knowing only one person elicited that reaction from her son. "I thought you solved the case?"

"We did, Mother. Hold on. Beckett, missed me already?" His smile grew wide. "Yes. Oh. Oh, right! No, it would really help…."

Martha watched her son's face light up at something the Detective had said. He caught her watching him so he winked at her and wandered into the study for privacy.

Alexis joined Martha, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Spaghetti's ready." She glanced towards her dad in the study. "Is that Detective Beckett? I thought they closed their case?"

Martha dropped her script on to the table and pulled her granddaughter down beside her. "They did, kiddo. Maybe your father is in trouble, Although he didn't look terribly put out."

Alexis rolled her eyes. "When does he? I hope they don't have another case tonight, he just got home. And I made spaghetti."

"Don't worry, darling, I'm sure the lovely detective is just calling to make sure your father didn't borrow any of her files again."

Castle emerged from the study, his expression smug, and a stark contrast from his previous phone call. "Beckett is coming to drop off the Henderson file I've been trying to get my hands on for the past month."

Martha shared a knowing smile with Alexis. "Really, now."

Castle sank back in the chair, propping his feet up on the leather ottoman, looking particularly pleased. "Yup. Roy told me about this old case where this man was found hanged by his--"

"Dad!"

"Richard!"

Castle paused, confused. "What?"

Alexis gave him a stern look, "Is it gruesome?"

"Well, of course it is, but it's also a very creative way to kill a person. Very artistic. And gory; it's perfect for the next chapter of _Naked Heat_."

"Dad, enough death and violence for tonight. I made us a nice dinner, and there will be no murder-talk at the table." Alexis stood up, stopping to learn down and kiss her father's cheek before making her way upstairs. "And don't worry, there's enough spaghetti if Detective Beckett wants to joins us. I bet she hasn't eaten yet. I'm going to change. Set the table."

Castle smiled. "Always thinking, Daughter."

"Someone has to, Father," she chimed back.

Martha took a sip of her wine, "Am I to assume that smile is because of _Naked Heat_ research?"

Her son turned to her and laughed. "Of course. The next murder in _Naked Heat _and Nikki Heat herself, what more do I need?" He stood up. "I'd better set the table. Beckett will be here anytime."

"So that smile has nothing to do with the fact you managed to get Detective Beckett over for dinner on a Saturday night?"

"She's not coming over for dinner."

"But you know she'll stay once Alexis uses those baby blues and asks."

Castle shrugged, "What can I say, my daughter has mystical powers. We're lucky she uses them for good."

Martha followed him to the kitchen, the aroma of garlic bread and spaghetti wafting through the room. Her son brushed by her carrying the plates. She went for the wine. Unwilling to drop the conversation just yet, she added, "I wish you'd just ask the woman out, already. It's getting tiresome."

Castle faltered a moment, the plate in his hand momentarily suspended in the air. "I have no idea what you are talking about, Mother."

Martha raised an eyebrow. "Please. This past year has been 'Beckett this, and Beckett that', even Alexis has begun to contribute. 'Kate Beckett' has become a permanent part of the Castle lexicon, and I was just wondering when you were going to move beyond words to action."

"I see her nearly every day. And Alexis and Beckett talk occasionally. It's only natural."

"Oh, kiddo," she patted his cheek, "and here I thought I was the only actor in the family."

Before Castle could formulate a response, the buzzer went and Alexis called 'got it!' as she raced down the stairs.

Martha leaned casually against the kitchen table and continued, unconcerned that the topic of conversation had arrived. "Your daughter admires her, you adore her, and I think you're actually good for her. It's been a year, kiddo. Please don't wait until I'm dead to get your act together. I'd like to have the opportunity to say' I told you so' at least once."

"Mother--"

"I'm just saying consider it, Richard. None of us are getting any younger."

Alexis entered with a smile and the uncomfortable detective trailing behind. "Dad, Grams, Detective Beckett is here and she's staying for dinner."

Martha stepped forward, embracing their guest. "Ah, Detective Beckett, so glad you could join us."

"Martha," Beckett greeted with a smile. She glanced at all three members of the Castle household. "I, uh, I really just came to drop of this file." She met Castle's eye. "I was told you needed it right away and you're not far from the lawyers, so..." she trailed off, biting her lip.

That seemed to inspire Castle into action. He straightened and flashed their guest a smile. "Thanks, Detective. And it's perfect timing, c'mon, have a seat. I'll take the file." He pulled out a chair and ushered her towards it. "I know for a fact you haven't eaten since this morning. Can't have Nikki Heat starving and weak, unable to protect the streets of New York."

Beckett scowled up at him as she sat down. "I did eat--"

Castle waved a hand, "Yeah, right, that granola bar you grabbed on the way to Matthison's house doesn't count. Plus, you dropped half of it on the street."

"And I wonder how that happened, Castle."

He smirked down at her, his eyes bright and amused. "If you would have taken me up on my offer that never would have happened."

Beckett rolled her eyes, but a small smile played at the corner of her mouth. She maintained contact a moment longer before turning to Alexis sitting across from her, pointedly ignoring him. "So what's this French project you were working on?"

As they ate, Martha sat back, glass of wine in hand, and watched as Kate Beckett relaxed into the conversation. "I feel a toast is in order." She raised her glass, catching her son's eye. Richard looked at her questioningly. "To family..." she smiled towards Kate, "...and friendship." Silently she added, And here's hoping those two drop the act and leave the acting to professionals.

_Author: kiki39_


	9. Alexis

**Alexis**

-----

Alexis scampered up the stairs to her room, in a hurry to change her clothes before Detective Beckett stopped by. She really hoped Detective Beckett would stay for dinner. It was going to be delicious – Alexis had added her own twist to her dad's famous original spaghetti sauce recipe. Her secret ingredient was chili powder, to give it an extra kick, but she'd take that information to the grave. Unless her dad attempted the tickle torture method again; she was helpless in the face of that tactic.

Anyway, Alexis liked Detective Beckett. She was so strong and brave, but really nice, too. She'd been so helpful when Alexis did her internship at the precinct, and she gave really good advice – and kept the secret – when Alexis was thinking about going to France. France! Now that was an idea – Alexis had this French project, and Detective Beckett had mentioned that she took French in high school, too. Alexis could do the project on her own, of course, but neither Dad nor Grams spoke French, so it would be reasonable to ask Beckett for help. And then she'd have to stay for dinner.

Now, what to wear? Maybe her green shirt with the flowy sleeves. Not purple. Alexis was really regretting her decision to buy so much purple – she loved the color, but it really didn't work with red hair. Most of the time, Alexis liked her hair, but it did rather curtail one's wardrobe choices.

She had just pulled on the shirt when the buzzer sounded. Alexis called 'got it!' and pounded down the stairs, flying past her dad and grandmother to open the door.

"Detective Beckett, hi! Please, come in, we're just about to sit down to dinner."

"Oh, Alexis, hi. Sorry, I'll just drop this file off for your dad and be out of your way."

"No, no, stay and eat with us!" Alexis said, closing the door behind the detective. "You haven't had dinner yet, right? You'll love it; I made my world-famous spaghetti sauce."

"Well, I don't know –"

"Hey, you speak French, right? Because I've got this absolutely massive French project. And Dad and Grandma are no help, they don't speak French. Dad just puts on this horrible French accent, and Grams launches into a monologue about the time she was in an off-Broadway production of _Tartuffe_." Alexis rolled her eyes. "Please say you'll stay and help?"

"Well, I guess I could, but –"

"Great!" Alexis said, leading Detective Beckett into the kitchen. Another plan well executed.

Dinners were always fun in the Castle household, at least when they weren't too busy for all three of them to sit down together. But meals were always better on the rare occasions that Detective Beckett could be persuaded to join them. Grams would tell her most entertaining theater stories – sometimes they were even true – and Dad was always at his most charming when Beckett was around.

Alexis worried about her dad, sometimes. They had been each other's whole world for so long. She knew the playboy, superficial face that her dad presented to the world, but that wasn't the whole story. He worked best with an audience, and Detective Beckett provided an excuse to show the sunny side of his personality, and kept him from slipping into the dumps. After her dad had killed off Derrick Storm to spite Gina he'd spent months moping around the apartment, barely bothering to dress or eat some days. Alexis kept bringing him questions on her homework, or begging to go to Serendipity, just to get him engaged in the world for a little bit. And who was going to do that once Alexis was off at college? Certainly not the bachelorette number three types he kept dating.

But Beckett was different. Not flighty like Mom (as much as Alexis loved her), or a money-grubbing control freak, like Gina, or a publicity junkie like most of the others. Real. She was smart enough and sassy enough to keep up with dad, and challenge him. And Dad was having fun, solving puzzles, and – though he probably wouldn't admit it – enjoying the chance to actually do some good in the world. And Beckett clearly needed someone to cajole her into eating, and inject some silliness into her life.

Yes, Alexis decided, her dad and Detective Beckett were good for each other. And if they were both too dense to figure it out, well, then she would just have to give them a little push.

_Author: sarastar43 _


	10. Montgomery

**Montgomery**

-----

I've been married a long time. Sometimes it seems like forever, and sometimes it's like barely a day has gone by since the most amazing woman in the world said _I do_. Add to that the fact that she has given me a wonderful family, and you can understand that I wouldn't change a minute. Not a single second. Not even the moments on the couch.

Ah, the couch. The one thing I insisted on choosing when we moved into our first apartment. It had to be long enough to stretch out on, and wide enough to lay flat. Oh, and comfortable, because I knew I'd probably be sleeping on it once in a while. And I still wouldn't take those nights back, because the making up was always incredible.

So when I see people getting in their own way, it makes me want to lock them in a small room until they come to their senses. Or at least until only one comes out still standing. And I know who I'd put my money on.

Case in point: Beckett and Castle. The former is one of the best cops I've ever worked with, male or female, while the latter owes me money. (Usually it's the other way around, but last game I distracted him by talking about Beckett.)

Maybe her past has made her who she is, or maybe she'd always have had that drive, that empathy. Not that I use long words like that around Ryan – I can't stand the confused look on his face, like I suddenly started spouting Russian. Anyway, I'm not worried about him. He has his Jenny – although maybe I should say she has him. In a stranglehold.

But back to Kate Beckett. She needs a man. Yes, I know my wife sometimes says a woman needs a man like a fish needs … you get my drift. But sometimes we all need someone to hold at night, to tell us everything will turn out okay, to be there when we fall to pick us up and put a patch on the metaphorically skinned knee.

Castle, on the other hand, needs someone to temper him. Tie him down. Make him grow up. After he's paid me the hundred bucks he owes me, of course.

It's been a year. Not that either of them have mentioned it, but I know Castle knows. I've seen him watching her, waiting for her to say something. Over and above the normal watching he does, of course. And she's been glancing at him when she thinks he's not looking so I'm pretty sure she's aware of the date as well.

They probably don't think anyone else remembers. Hell, I'm not sure I would if I hadn't had to sign the renewal recommendation for Castle to continue working with us. I remember him complaining about the number of bits of paper he had to deal with back at the beginning, waiving his life away – but he should try being a Captain of Detectives. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever catch another bad guy again. And if I did I'd probably threaten him with a pen instead of my gun.

They don't have that problem. Beckett and Castle. They complement each other, and between them they've put away a lot of lawbreakers – the precinct's results testify to that. We've got one of the highest solve rates in the city, and not a small amount of that is down to their partnership.

So there they are, dancing around each more than my Aunt Daisy after two glasses of sherry, while Ryan and Esposito are making book on when they end up in bed together, or at least kiss. And, at least for the moment, I for one won't be locking them into the interrogation room, not until it becomes necessary.

And don't tell anyone, but I've got May 31st – for the kiss anyway.

_Author: jane0904_


End file.
